Interpretation of literary

III. SPECIMENS OF INTERPRETATION. 
TRIBUTE 
by Alfred Coppard 
Two honest young men lived in Braddle, worked together at the 
spinning mills at Braddle, and courted the same girl in the town of 
Braddle, a girl named Patience who was poor and pretty. One of them, 
Nathan Regent, who wore cloth uppers to his best boots, was steady, 
silent, and dignified but Tony Vassall, the other, was such a happy-go-
lucky fellow that he soon carried the good will of Patience in his heart, 
in his handsome face, in his pocket at the end of his nickel watch chain,
or wherever the sign of requited love is carried by the happy lover. 
The virtue of steadiness, you see, can be measured only by the years, 
and thus Tony had put such a hurry into the tender bosom of Patience; 
silence may very well be golden, but it is a currency not easy to 
negotiate in the kingdom of courtship; dignity is so much less than 
simple faith that it is unable to move even one mountain, it charms the 
hearts only of bank managers and bishops. 
So Patience married Tony Vassall and Nathan turned his attention 
to other things, among them to a girl who had a neat little fortune—and 
Nathan married that. 
Braddle is a large gaunt hill covered with dull little houses, and it has 
flowing from its side a stream which feeds a gigantic and beneficent 
mill. Without that mill—as everybody in Braddle knew, for it was there 
that everybody in Braddle worked—the heart of Braddlc would cease to 
beat. Tony went on working at the mill. So did Nathan in a way, but he 
had a cute ambitious wife, and what with her money and influence he 
was soon made a manager of one of the departments. Tony went on 

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70 
working at tile mill. In a few more years Nathan's steadiness so 
increased his opportunities that he became joint manager of the whole 
works. Then his colleague died; he was appointed sole manager, and his 
wealth became so great that eventually Nathan and Nathan's wife bought 
the entire concern. Tony went on working at the mill. He now had two 
sons and a daughter, Nancy, as well as his wife Patience, so that even his 
possessions may be said to have increased although his position was no 
different from what it had been for twenty years. 
The Regents, now living just outside Braddle, had one child, a 
daughter named Olive, of the same age as Nancy. She was very beautiful 
and had been educated at a school to which she rode, on a bicycle until 
she was eighteen. 
About that time, you must know, that country embarked upon a 
disastrous compaign, a war so calamitous that every sacrifice was 
demanded of Braddle. The Braddle mills were worn from their very 
bearings by their colossal efforts, increasing by day or by night, to 
provide what were called the sinews of war. Almost everybody in 
Braddle grew white and thin and sullen with the strain of constant 
labour. Not quite everybody, for the Regents received such a vast 
increase of wealth that their eyes sparkled; they scarcely knew what to 
do with it; their faces were neither white nor sullen. 
"In times like these", declared Nathan's wife, "we must help our 
country still more, still more we must help; let us lend our money to the 
country". 
"Yes", said Nathan. 
So they lent their money to their country. The country paid them 
tribute, and therefore, as the Regents' wealth continued to flow in, they 
helped their country more and more; they even lent the tribute back to 
the country and received yet more tribute for that. 
"In times like these", said the country, "we must have more men, 
more men we must have". And so Nathan went and sat upon a] Tribunal; 
for, as everybody in Braddle knew, if the mills of Braddle ceased to 
grind, the heart of Braddle would cease to beat. 
"What can we do to help our country?" asked Tony Vassal! of his 
master, "we have no money to lend." 
"No?" was the reply. "But you can give your strong son Dan." 
Tony gave his son Dan to the country. 
"Good-bye, dear son," said his father, and his brother and his sister 
Nancy said "Good-bye." His mother kissed him. 

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71 
Dan was killed in battle; his sister Nancy took his place at the mill. 
In a little while the neighbours said to Tony Vassall: "What a fine 
strong son is your young Albert Edward!" 
And Tony gave his son Albert Edward to the country. 
"Good-bye, dear son", said his father; his sister kissed him, his 
mother wept on his breast. 
Albert Edward was killed in battle; his mother took his place at the 
mill. 
But the war did not cease; though friend and foe alike were almost 
drowned in blood it seemed as powerful as eternity, and in time Tony 
Vassall too went to battle and was killed. The country gave Patience a 
widow's pension, as well as a touching inducement to marry again; she 
died of grief. Many people died in those 
days, it was not strange at all. Nathan and his wife got so rich that after 
the war they died of over-eating, and their daughter Olive came into a 
vast fortune and a Trustee. 
The Trustee went on lending the Braddle money to the country, the 
country went on sending large sums of interest to Olive {which was the 
country's tribute to her because of her parents' unforgotten, and indeed 
unforgettable, kindness), while Braddle went on with its work of 
enabling the country to do this. For when the war came to an end the 
country told Braddle that those who had not given their lives must now 
turn to and really work, work harder ill an before the war, much, much 
harder, or the tribute could not be paid and the heart of Braddle would 
therefore cease to beat. Braddle folk saw that this was true, only too true, 
and they did as they were told. 
The Vassall girl, Nancy, married a man who had done deeds of 
valour in the war. He was a mill hand like her father, and they had two 
sons. Daniel and Albert Edward. Olive married a grand man, though it 
was true he was not very grand to look at. He had a small sharp nose, but 
that did not matter very much because when you looked at him in profile 
his bouncing red cheeks quite hid the small sharp nose, as completely as 
two hills hide a little barn in a valley. Olive lived in a grand mansion 
with numerous servants who helped her to rear a little family of one, a 
girl named Mercy, who also*had a small sharp nose and round red 
checks. 
Every year after the survivors' return from the war Olive gave a 
supper to her workpeople and their families, hundreds of them; for six 

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hours there would be feasting and toys, music and dancing. Every year 
Olive would make a little speech to them all, reminding them all of their 
duty to Braddle and Braddle's duty to the county, although, indeed, she 
did not remind them of the country's tribute to Olive. That was perhaps a 
theme unfitting to touch upon, it would have been boastful and quite 
unbecoming. 
"These are grave times for our country", Olive would declare, year 
after year; "her responsibilities arc enormous, we must all put our 
shoulders to the wheel." 
Every year one of the workmen would make a little speech in 
reply, thanking Olive for enabling the heart of Braddle to continue its 
beats, calling down the spiritual blessings of heaven and the golden 
blessings of the world upon Olive's golden head. One year the honour of 
replying fell to the husband of Nancy and he was more than usually 
eloquent for on that very day their two sons had commenced to doff 
bobbins at the mill. No one applauded louder than Nancy's little Dan or 
Nancy's Albert Edward, unless it was Nancy herself. Olive was always 
much moved on these occasions. She felt that she did not really know 
these people, that she would never know them; she wanted to go on 
seeing them, being with them, and living with rapture in their workaday 
world. But she did not do this. 
"How beautiful it all is! She would sigh to her daughter, Mercy, 
who accompanied her. "I am so happy. All these dear people are being 
cared for by us, just simply us. God's scheme of creation—you see—the 
Almighty—we are his agents—we must always remember that. It goes 
on for years, years upon years it goes on. It will go on, of course, yes, 
for ever; the heart of Braddle will not cease to beat. The old ones die, the 
young grow old, the children mature and marry and keep the mill going. 
When I am dead ..." 
"Mamma, mamma!" 
"O, yes, indeed, one day! Then you will have to look after all these 
things, Mercy, and you will talk to them—just like me. Yes, to own the 
mill is a grave and difficult thing, only those who own them know how 
grave and difficult; it calls forth all one's deepest and rarest qualities; but 
it is a divine position, a noble responsibility. And the people really love 
me—I think".